193/365 And then the doorbell rang

We'd worked on building the porch all afternoon in the hot July sun. Picked garlic and refilled the pool after my sisters' party. Dinner from the gyro place down the street. Sophia and a friend had baked in my kitchen (read: destroyed) and had spread cupcakes around a bit. The doorbell rang and I figured it was a neighbor returning a plate. So I go down because I have other things on my agenda with the neighbors involving the fact that we have to get together because I'm dying to spend time with adults this summer.

But it's not a neighbor. It's...Fr. Miguel. And Hildegard and Kinnera and their housemate Karen. And Jack and his wife Elaine. On my front porch. I open the door and after a puzzling interchange that involved my saying, "but it isn't my birthday," they come in.

They were just passing by from a restaurant a few blocks east. "Bridgett lives on this block..."

And there they were.

And that was a wonderful surprise. The Gospel this weekend was Mary and Martha. I am always and forever a Mary.